The Plasma Monster - Kurt Brand, ebook, CALIBRE SFF 1970s, Temp 2
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Perry Rhodan 103 The Plasma Monster by Kurt Mahr PROLOG HUMANITY stands on
the threshold of a New Era! Since the death of Khrest, 57 years have
passed-it is now 2102 A.D. and much has happened in the meantime. With the
support of Earthmen, Atlan has succeeded in consolidating his position as
Imperator. The treaty between Arkon and the Solar Empire has borne
fruit-especially for the Terrans, many of whom have already taken over
important positions on Arkon itself. Atlan has to tolerate this because he
cannot depend on most of the members of his own race. The Solar Empire has
become a major commercial power along the rim of the Milky Way. For the past
22 years a virtual stream of emigrants has been flowing out to suitable
colonial worlds. Also on many of the planets inhabited by other intelligences,
Terran embassies have been established as well as far-flung trading
settlements. In spite of all this, however, the situation is tense. An
ominous discovery has been made: there is a super power in the galaxy which is
friendly neither to Arkonides nor to Terrans! These are the Akons of the
so-called Blue System. This terrible race will unleash the most incredible and
frightening creation humanity has ever seen... the horrible PLASMA
MONSTER! 1/ INTERSTELLAR ALERT "THIS MAN I would like to meet," said Perry
Rhodan. He folded his copy of Europa News, then pointed out the byline of the
leading article. "Walt Ballin..." He muttered the name half aloud to himself
while sitting at his desk and gazing out through the windows at his view of
Terrania. Today a rare note had been struck by the daily information that his
Press advisers had selected from the virtual ocean of news sources within the
Imperium. Although he was neither friend nor foe of the Press, he had just
expressed the wish to actually meet a journalist. Rhodan appeared to ignore
the questioning stare of Allan D. Mercant, Chief of Solar Intelligence.
Instead, the First Administrator of the Solar Imperium continued to look out
the window across the expanse of rooftops comprising Terrania, even beyond the
great city to the park-like countryside that had once been the Gobi
Desert. "You know, it's a matter of both duty and courage, I'd say, to
address ourselves to this question of whether or not our overall policy is
basically a destructive one, Mercant. Usually it's not very practical to even
bother to read the kind of aggressive outpourings that Walt Ballin is capable
of, but in this case he's brought up some considerations that we should also
be concerned with. I'm especially interested in his assertion that we may have
neglected to prepare the man in the street for thinking in terms of a galactic
perspective. Mercant, don't you think this Walt Ballin has a point?" The
Intelligence Chief's lean face had not moved a muscle as he continued to fix
his gaze on Rhodan. "It's quite easy to be a critic, sir," he contradicted
calmly. "We can't accelerate man's development any more than we have already.
Our duty is to direct ourselves to the average level of intelligence. If we
were to attempt a thorough explanation in detail of what's cooking out there
in the galaxy, if we tried to point out the dangers that are the most acute
for the Solar Imperium-or if we told them that we've just discovered a race at
the core of the galaxy which is far superior to the Arkonides in every sense
of the word-it would not only serve to throw the majority of the population
into confusion but might also start a wave of panic uprisings." "But I think,
my friend, that it would be better to face such potential upheavals now rather
than to have them shoved upon us at precisely the wrong time. However much I'd
like to follow your advice, Mercant, at present I think it's best to give Walt
Ballin the benefit of a doubt. In fact I'm ready to join him in saying that we
are indeed on a course of self-destruction if we don't go to every Terran-and
I mean the man in the street and make every one of them a true citizen of the
universe!" "Every last individual has to feel that he is united with us. But
how can he feel that way unless he is able to share our apprehensions and the
responsibility for our needs? That is exactly what we're not doing, my dear
Mercant, and it's what Walt Ballin is holding up to our faces. We shouldn't
forget the panic that swept over the Earth when the Druufs made a sudden
appearance in our system, followed by Arkon's robot fleet, with the ships of
 the Galactic Traders joining the fray." "No, I think we should prepare
mankind, step by step, for the reality that a far superior race of people is
living in the centre of the galaxy and we should be counting on their paying
us a perhaps unpleasant visit. And if Walt Ballin is all that his article
seems to promise, then he's the man for the job. That's why I'd like to meet
him as soon as possible. When can he be here, Mercant?" Allan D. Mercant
smiled ironically. "Sir, Walt Ballin is a journalist and journalists are a
very unusual lot. Hopefully he can find his way to Terrania if Intelligence
asks him to come here, in your name. I hope I can have him here by
tomorrow." . . . . While Walt Ballin was talking on the Europa News
seefone to Yvonne Berclais, he was no longer thinking about the lead article
he had written for the first June issue of his paper. The visitor out in the
reception room could just cool his heels, the stranger didn't seem to be very
important. Walt Ballin didn't know anybody named Garibaldi. Besides, the main
thing on his mind was to date Yvonne for this evening so that he could finally
come to an understanding with her. "OK, Chérie, then it's all set for tonight
at eight at Trois Poulardes? If it's OK with you I'll reserve our front table
on the left side." Yvonne Berclais was an enchanting young woman, an elegant
brunet who was world famous in spite of her 22 years. Whenever 'La Berclais'
opened up with her brilliant soprano on the networks, her goddess-like voice
was listened to by 100 million viewers. But just now Yvonne Berclais was not
the singer, she was a happy young girl who was in love with Walt Ballin. "I'm
happy about tonight, Walt, and this time I'll be on time. You won't have to
wait for me. So until then...!" She had cut off the connection with Walt who
in spite of his 27 years was the lead writer for Europa News, yet he continued
to stare at the screen. However, the muted sound of his buzzer reminded him of
the visitor waiting in the anteroom. So let him come in! Ballin found
himself in a euphoric mood. He was still thinking of Yvonne as he
absentmindedly greeted his guest. Even as he made a gesture inviting the man
to sit down, he could only see Yvonne before him. Tonight she wouldn't keep
him waiting at Trois Poulardes and if he didn't want to miss having a table
he'd have to reserve it within the hour. But now who was this visitor,
anyway? "What... I mean, would you repeat that, please?" He stared in sudden
bewilderment at the bald-pated man with the tremendous belly, who, in sitting,
was so short in stature that he hardly came up over the arm rests of the
chair. The little fat man repeated his message and Walt Ballin suddenly
sharpened his ears in astonishment. What was this? Day before yesterday his
lead article had been brought to the attention of the First Administrator?
"Yes, and so?" Ballin was alarmed. As his mind raced ahead he had a
presentiment of very big trouble and a headache for the Editor-in-Chief! The
Head Office had already expressed its reservations about the article even
while he had been insisting on an editorial release so as to meet the issue
deadline. "On the basis of your article I have been commissioned by my
superior, the Chief of Solar Intelligence..." All Ballin heard was Solar
Intelligence and he could already see himself walking the streets as an
unemployed journalist. He might just as well cross off tonight's date with
Yvonne from his appointment calendar. But why was Solar Intelligence concerned
with his article in the first place? Since when had Press censorship reared
its ugly head again on Earth? "Where am I supposed to go? To Terrania?" he
asked sarcastically. Again he had missed half the context of the invitation to
visit Terrania. He still tied the whole thing to Solar Intelligence. "That's
right, Mr. Ballin, because after all you can't expect the First Administrator
to come here to Paris to talk with you." Talk? That's what the bald-headed
little fatso had said. A conversation with Perry Rhodan! Walt Ballin got to
his feet. "April Fool's Day has passed, mister," he said rather sharply, "and
I'm sure the First Administrator hasn't got time to spend every day reading
lead articles in the world Press..." The little man had opened his briefcase
and now he handed over a small plastic foil about the size of a postcard. "Mr.
Ballin, your ticket. But this isn't for any scheduled airline. At 13:40 a
space jet will arrive at the spaceport at berth 68-B, where it will be waiting
 for you. Would you be kind enough to connect me with your editor so that I can
arrange for your leave of absence, Mr. Ballin?" Ballin finally gasped. "Hold
it! Hold it!" he protested, suddenly on the defensive. "I'm not on my way to
Terrania yet! What did you say your name was?" "Jeff Garibaldi, Mr. Ballin,
but in my case the name has no significance. Of course my parents did come
from Italy..." "And your grandfather was the notorious...?" "My great-great
grandfather, sir-but I'd rather say he was less notorious than he was
well-known among his contemporaries." Allan D. Mercant had known very well
the kind of man to select from the ranks of Intelligence to send against a
journalist like Ballin. What only appeared to be a superficial conversation
was actually a psychological manoeuvre that served to water down Walt Ballin's
initial excitement. In spite of himself, Ballin was forced to smirk slightly
when he compared the small fat bald-headed figure of Jeff Garibaldi with the
fiery Italian freedom fighter of old. On his part, Jeff Garibaldi knew what
was behind the smirk but said nothing. He was satisfied with the present
development of the situation. "And what am I supposed to do with this ticket,
Mr. Garibaldi? What business do I have in Terrania? That the First
Administrator of all people should want to parlay with me about my article is
pretty absurd! There must be something else behind it..." "Mr. Ballin, Solar
Intelligence has merely been commissioned to carry through with this
invitation. My directives do not go farther than that." "But this is
ridiculous!" exclaimed Ballin. He suddenly grasped the portly visitor by the
coat collar. "You have other plans for me? Your reason for my accepting
Rhodan's invitation is very sleazy, little man! You know that our first issue
this month carried my lead article in which I attacked the government of the
Solar Imperium and that's why you want to shut me up. If that fails, then
you'll make trouble with my Head Office and see to it that I'm fired! So now
tell me, Mr. Garibaldi, once and for all-why have you come here? It seems that
your name is significant, after all. It still means trouble!" But the little
fat man only laughed at him pleasantly. "Mr. Ballin, my ancestor was not la
bandit and Solar Intelligence is not in the gangster or kidnapping business.
Now, please-are you familiar with the seal of Solar Intelligence? Then read my
orders. It's against regulations to show them to you but I'll take that risk
if it will convince you. Perry Rhodan wants to talk with you-not Intelligence.
And that, Mr. Ballin, is an unusual opportunity. What journalist can say's
he's interviewed the Administrator alone?" Walt Ballin was still suspicious.
The thought of Rhodan's having been influenced enough by his lead article to
take interest in a mere newspaper hack like himself was such a shock that he
simply couldn't believe the invitation. "Mr. Garibaldi," he finally inquired,
"would Solar Intelligence cover the bill if I were to put in a call to
Terrania?" "With whom do you wish to speak there?" asked the little fat man
maintaining an outward indifference. "You mean Rhodan?" "Who else? If as you
say he wants me to come to Terrania, then he probably won't have any objection
if I speak to him briefly-or would he...?" Jeff Garibaldi could not answer
the question but he explained that the Paris headquarters of Solar
Intelligence would assume the cost of a call to Terrania. "Good! I can hardly
wait!" was all Ballin could manage to reply. He got up from sitting on the
edge of his desk and made a connection with the main switchboard of the Europa
News. Although it did not have a French name, in terms of circulation it was
the largest of the French language newspapers. "This is a call to Terrania,"
he said into the seefone. "Put me through to the First Administrator." "With
whom, please?" The voice that rang in the speaker was that of a robot
operator. "Perry Rhodan," Ballin confirmed positively while glancing across
at Garibaldi. The Terrania connection came through only a barely perceptible
flicker of the viewscreen betrayed the action of a positronic relay as it
opened a security circuit to Rhodan's line. "Yes?" Walt Ballin swallowed
involuntarily. He was looking into a pair of calm grey eyes as the mightiest
man in the Solar Imperium faced him on the viewscreen. It was the latter who
was first to speak. "If I have my signals straight, you must be Walt Ballin.
May I expect you today in Terrania, Mr. Ballin? Just let me know when you
 arrive. Will you do that?" The Parisian journalist was plainly flabbergasted.
"Yessir... uh, sure thing!" he managed to stutter in reply. A fleeting smile
touched Rhodan's lips. "I'm looking forward to chatting with you, Mr. Ballin.
Was there anything else?" "No, sir... thank you, sir... there's nothing else,
sir!" Ballin was already bathed in sweat as the viewscreen started to darken
but then flickered to life again. At the other end of the line was Mr.
Jacquuse, the owner of the Europa News. "Mr. Ballin!" he snapped sharply.
"You have just made a global call without permission!" By this time, however,
Walt Ballin was no longer in doubt of where he stood. "Of course!" he answered
confidently. "I was just thanking the First Administrator for his special
invitation, Mr. Jacquuse." "You, Mr. Ballin?-with Perry Rhodan...?" Ballin
ignored the other's amazement and took advantage of the situation. "Sir, at
13:40 a space jet will be waiting for me at the spaceport. I'd like to request
unlimited leave for my visit to Terrania. My phone call will be..." Mr.
Jacquuse interrupted magnanimously. "But my dear Ballin!" he exclaimed. "Of
course you may have the leave-that goes without saying! And naturally we'll
bear the cost of that call. But before you go to the spaceport you'll still
hand in your article for the evening edition, won't you?" Walt Ballin wasn't
aware of any article he was due to turn in that day. "But my dear Ballin..."
And Ballin could not recall when the arrogant Jacquuse had ever addressed him
as "my dear". The Frenchman continued hastily. "I'll hold the presses for you!
We'll run a headline on the front page that our chief writer, Walt Ballin, has
been called to Terrania as an adviser to Perry Rhodan..." In that moment,
Walt Ballin turned in his notice without saying it in so many words. He
abruptly interrupted the proprietor of the great Europa News. "Mr. Jacquuse, I
am not Perry Rhodan's adviser or anything of the kind! And I will not allow
you to bring out any such announcement. Since it is now 12:58 I'll be leaving
the building in the next few minutes. Good day, Mr. Jacquuse!" The little fat
man stirred and got up from his chair. "You might as well have said farewell,
Mr. Ballin. After your interview with Rhodan is over, you won't find a chair
you can call your own in this newspaper building. But don't forget your
ticket. Without that pass you won't get by the robot. Shall we go?" . . .
. At 12:00 Standard Time, Lt. Harold Fitzgerald again took command of Relay
Station Ori-12-1818. Since Sgt. Stainless did not have any unusual events to
report, the latter retired to his cabin as he did every day at 12:00 to get
some well-deserved rest. Ori-12-1818 was stationed in an orbit around the
largest system in Orion, that of the giant red sun Betelgeuse. The super sun
had a diameter 500 times as large as that of Sol and had once possessed 14
planets but in recent times, only 118 years ago, the 3rd planet had been lost
in an atomic explosion. That was when the great fleets of the Springers and
the Topides had clashed in this section of the galaxy. The Galactic Traders
had mistaken the Topides for allies of the hated Terrans and the Topides had
believed Conrad Deringhouse's warning that the Springers had come here to
destroy Topide power in the region. The laughing 3rd party in the background
had been Perry Rhodan who at the time was fully occupied with the task of
concealing Earth's position when Terra which was still comparatively weak. By
a ruse he had contrived to falsify the vital data stored in the positronicon
of a Trader ship, leading them to believe that Earth was the 3rd planet of
Betelgeuse. The horrendous power of a single Arkon bomb had annihilated the
uninhabited world. Planet 4 was the world of Akvo, Earth-sized but with 95%
of its surface covered by water. It was a life-supporting world containing a
single continent that was about as large as Europe and here Terra had long
since established a trading settlement and built up a military Fleet base. In
the course of many decades the name Akvo had fallen into disuse. Now like all
the rest of the satellites of Betelgeuse, it was designated by a number.
Number 4 had thus become #3 and the methane-gas giant in the farthest orbit
was now #13. Every 3 months the crew of the relay station was relieved by
replacements from the 3rd planet. Lt. Fitzgerald had just completed his check
of all the controls and now that he had time for musings he began to think
about his forthcoming relief. At a distance of 172 million km beyond the 13th
 planetary orbit, Ori-12-1818 circled the Betelgeuse System, using its
sensitive instruments to register every disturbance of the space-time
continuum. Although the spherical station was not equipped with high-powered
propulsion units it was an advanced bastion of the Solar Imperium on the outer
fringes of the Terran sphere of interest. Fitzgerald was tall and strikingly
lean in figure and was endowed with a crop of straw-blond hair. He was
startled out of his reverie by a drum-like rattling sound. The hypersensor
equipment had set off an alarm as it detected the transition of an unannounced
spaceship. The Solar Fleet maintained a continuous surveillance of all areas
of space which had been declared commercial territory for Terra. Any approach
flight by alien ships had to be announced beforehand. The relay stations
formed an overlapping, interlocked ring of surveillance posts which were
designed for policing Rhodan's policies and making sure that all Galactic
Trader elements observed it. If there were any violations, Rhodan's space
squadrons would make a lightning-swift appearance and demand that the
unannounced ship identify itself in a hurry. Lt. Fitzgerald quickly glanced
at his oscillographs and saw that the spacewarp had been generated by a normal
hypertransition. "That's another Springer, for sure!" he said. All he had to
do was press a button. Instantly a datalink signal was transmitted to the two
Solar ships that were cruising at picket stations in his sector. The automatic
data hookup provided the patrol ships with all information necessary for them
to reach the point of emergence of the unknown spacer-that is, if in the next
moment the stranger did not disappear in a new transition jump. The Nile was
a ship of the Terra class, measuring 200 meters in diameter and carrying a
400-man crew. It had been alerted by Fitzgerald's data-link signal. The Nile's
big positronic computer processed the coördinates and started programming the
transition manoeuvre. The powerful impulse engines opened up with a full-power
propulsion blast. The power stations and inertial generators started to howl
and the converters built up swiftly to maximum output. 400 crewmen quickly
donned their spacesuits and scrambled to their stations. The ship's weapons
control central announced its battle readiness. The loudspeakers began to make
the transition countdown. In the ship's Control Central the operation was
routine. The alert had been no cause for undue excitement. These men were
veterans of far more serious missions than merely flagging a ship that had
failed to announce its approach. "Normal hyperjump?" asked the commander.
Communications had just completed evaluating the pulse-coded input from
Ori-12-1818, so he was double-checking to make sure. "Sir, it's a normal
jump. 3 minutes later the Nile made a hypertransition and emerged back into
the normal void some 28 light-years away, travelling at a velocity of 0.4
light-speed. Even in the moment of rematerialisation its tracking instruments
spotted the alien vessel and fed the data into the positronicon. While the
crew was still recovering from the transition shock the Nile was already on an
automatic course toward the unidentified spaceship. The instruments indicated
that the stranger's speed was 0.1% greater than that of the Nile. "Sir,"
remarked Corp. Penter without looking up from his tracking console, "we should
have been equipped by now with the new 3-D sensors like the relay
station." "Are you thinking of Rhodan's latest alert orders, Penter?"
returned the Nile's commander. "Yessir. Because we might be facing one of
those Akon ships. What's to prevent those pre-Arkonides from still being able
to use 'Stone-Age' equipment like ours and bumble through hyperspace like we
do?" In the course of test-flying the research ship Fantasy, Rhodan and his
companions had penetrated the centre of the galaxy and there had discovered
the Blue System which was the home of the Akons, an incredibly advanced race
that was evidently the true ancestors of the Arkonides. Since that time,
Rhodan and the Solar Fleet had been expecting a visit from the Akons. But no
one was certain as to how they would come-whether in a spaceship or by means
of a technology which was so advanced that most men hadn't dreamed of it as
yet. Rhodan's alert order to the Fleet and to all relay stations read as
follows: In the case of unannounced penetrations of our zone of interest,
should any alien ship give any indication of an unusual form of propulsion,
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